darkdreamer

Hi, guys! :) Here's the latest update of Used. I really hope you enjoy it :) *hugs* please let me know :)

Title: Used
Beta:

misanthropicobs
Rating: R
Pairing: House/Wilson friendship, House/Cuddy friendship, Wilson/OFC, and possible future House/Cuddy, not in this fic though :P
Warnings: implied and explicit non-con, violence and non-con of a flashback/memory sort, mild language, general angst and trauma and darkness
Summary: House endures the unimaginable...will his friends be able to deal with it? Will he be able to deal with it? A story about damaged human beings, and ultimately recovery and healing

Chapter 41
Release

Wilson walked back into his bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him before turning to look at Jenna. She was seated on the bed facing toward him. She looked up when he entered – just long enough for him to see the tears that streaked her face and her red-rimmed eyes – before turning her head away, her hand rising to hurriedly wipe the tears away.

With a quiet caution, Wilson sat down beside her. She didn’t acknowledge him, but she didn’t move away, either – so he carefully ventured a gentle touch, resting his hand over hers on the bed between them.

“I’m… sorry you had to find out like that.” His voice was soft and filled with an understanding that came from really knowing just how she felt. “It’s quite a shock, I know.” He frowned, hesitating slightly before adding, “I just… I thought you knew, actually. I thought you’d figured it out.”

Jenna’s voice was thick with tears, her head lowered as she turned her face back toward him. “I knew it was more than a beating. I knew he’d been… raped,” she confirmed, her voice just over a whisper, before falling silent for a long moment. Finally she confessed, her words barely audible, “I just… had no idea it was so… so brutal. The way that man talked to him… the... the things he said…”

Abruptly she looked up at Wilson, a lost, stricken look in her eyes, as if until now, she hadn’t yet seen any evidence in her own life that such horrors actually existed. She shook her head slowly in helpless dismay.

“I think… I think the mental assault might have been worse than the physical.”

Wilson considered that for a moment before nodding slowly. “I think you might be right.”

Jenna lowered her eyes again, staring into nothing. “That… that monster did everything in his power to… to break him. Completely. To demolish him until there was nothing left.”

Wilson nodded again, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “He almost succeeded.”

“Almost,” Jenna echoed, meeting his eyes again with an expression of amazement. “House shouldn’t even be functioning. He should be in a padded room, like Leiberman. After everything Tritter did to him – he shouldn’t be able to hold it together for five minutes under the best of circumstances.” She paused, shaking her head slowly in wondering disbelief. “I guess I’m… a little bit in awe of the fact that he was able to go through with this. If I’d had… any idea… I never would have suggested it.”

Wilson winced slightly at that, biting his lip in an unconscious reaction to the familiar feeling of uncertainty he felt at her words. He still wasn’t sure that they’d made the right decision in carrying out this plan.

“I just hope… I hope he’ll be all right,” he admitted softly, his dark eyes troubled as they met hers in an anxious grimace. “I hope he can handle the… the trauma…”

Jenna studied his face, her own expression solemn and searching. “He can,” she assured him, conviction in her voice. She hesitated a moment before explaining her conclusion. “The kind of courage it had to take, just to agree to this plan in the first place – knowing what Tritter’s capable of, what he could have done to him…” She shook her head, momentarily at a loss.

A tentative smile crossed Wilson’s lips, and he nodded in wary agreement. “He’s… pretty amazing. I’m… just now figuring out how amazing.” He hesitated, his voice soft with affection, trembling with emotion. “I’m… I’m so proud of him.”

There was warmth in Jenna’s eyes as she turned to face Wilson more fully, reaching out to take his free hand in hers so that she was holding both his hands. He gave her a curious look in reaction to the increased intimacy of the gesture, and she responded with an affectionate smile.

“And I’m proud of you,” she stated quietly.

Wilson let out a soft scoffing sound, rolling his eyes before giving her a dubious look. “For what?”

“For the kind of care you’ve been taking of House. For… how devoted you are to him.” Jenna looked away with a shy little shrug as she explained, “My job is… is watching people. Observing. And… I’ve been observing you for the last week or so… watching how you’ve been handling this… unimaginably difficult situation. And… I’ve come to a conclusion.”

Wilson watched her with a smile of embarrassed amusement as she spoke. When she stopped, he waited a moment before pressing, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“And what’s that?”

There was no mistaking the admiration and attraction in Jenna’s eyes. “That you really are the kind, generous, loving man you appear to be.” Her voice softened as she added wistfully, “I was… starting to wonder if those still existed at all.”

“Don’t give me too much credit,” Wilson advised with a weary sigh, looking away with a quiet rage in his dark eyes. “The things I’m thinking right now are anything but generous and loving.”

“And see,” Jenna continued, unfazed, “that’s amazing, too. You go on and on about House’s courage in all this – and rightfully so. But… you were ready to go out there and take on Tritter yourself to protect him, knowing that he’s not only a cold-blooded killer, but a trained cop as well. There’s every reason to believe that he’d have the advantage in a confrontation – but that didn’t matter to you.”

Embarrassed by her praise, Wilson waved a dismissive hand and shook his head. “You’re still giving me too much credit,” he insisted. “You have no idea how many times I’ve done exactly the wrong thing in the past week…”

“At least you’re doing something,” Jenna pointed out. “At least you’re trying. A lot of people wouldn’t even still be around. This would be too much for them to handle.”

When Wilson opened his mouth to protest again, Jenna silenced him with a gentle finger across his lips, leaning in closer and shaking her head firmly.

“Stop,” she ordered softly, meeting his eyes in an intense gaze that made him abruptly forget whatever it was he had been planning to say. “James Wilson… just stop thinking so much for a minute.”

In hindsight, given their close physical proximity… her touch on his lips… the sense of closeness that came from their brief moments of shared emotion – Wilson thought that he probably shouldn’t have heeded her advice.

At the moment, however – it seemed to be exactly the right thing to do.

As Jenna’s finger slipped down away from his lips, he felt its loss acutely, and found himself wanting to replace it with an even softer touch. She leaned closer, huge blue-grey eyes locked onto his in a shock of newly realized desire, and awed understanding of what was happening between them.

Wilson put his hands on her arms, just below her shoulders, gently pulling her forward to close the last little bit of distance between them. Before he knew it was going to happen, his lips were on hers – gently, tentatively seeking the comfort of connection.

Had he taken time to think, Wilson would have known that the timing was terrible. They had far greater things to worry about at the moment. The kiss was happening for the wrong reasons; he and Jenna were both in a particularly vulnerable state at the moment, and seeking to reassure themselves, to chase away the fearful, troubling thoughts that threatened to consume their minds.

But Wilson had already decided not to think, not now… just to feel.

Unfortunately, the dark mental images he was trying so hard to avoid would not be ignored.

Abruptly, he broke away from the kiss, the hands that had drawn Jenna closer to him now pushing her away as he lurched to his feet. Jenna stared up at him in bewildered dismay, one hand rising to her mouth as she stood up beside him.

“James…?”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, shaking his head as he turned toward the door, not looking at her. “I can’t do this right now. I just… I just can’t do this.”

Wilson deliberately avoided looking at her – avoided seeing the inevitable expression of hurt and confusion and insecurity on her face – as he stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him and heading for the kitchen, without so much as a glance at the couch where House and Cuddy sat quietly talking. There was no reason why he should deprive them of their privacy.

He reached the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, gulping it down swiftly in an attempt to suppress the sudden urge he felt to vomit.

It wasn’t that the kiss was a bad one, because it wasn’t – far from it, in fact. He simply couldn’t face Jenna right then, couldn’t bear to explain to he why he had felt the need to leave the room so quickly, to end their furtive, fledgling encounter before it could begin. There was no reason for her to know the troubling, possibly hurtful truth.

All Wilson could see when he closed his eyes was the image his mind had concocted to match what his ears had heard outside his bedroom door – Tritter, forcing House to his knees in front of him, menacing him with his gun and viciously degrading him for his own sadistic amusement. Disgust and revulsion mingled with his inevitable guilt for daring to think of his own pleasure and comfort at a time such as this, until it was impossible for Wilson to imagine continuing what he and Jenna had very nearly started.

Not tonight, anyway.

It wasn’t her fault, but Wilson simply couldn’t bring himself to try to explain to Jenna why, at the moment, kissing her made him feel physically sick.

*******************************

Detective Marcus Benson leaned stiffly forward in his seat and switched off the monitor on his desk, then leaned back in his chair, still staring at the now-blank screen. His expression was one of practiced control, but his eyes revealed the state of grim dismay in which the disturbing video recording had left him.

Jenna sat quietly in the chair across from him, grateful that the position of the monitor prevented her from seeing the screen. Just hearing the audio again had been bad enough, reminding her of the awful night before, when it had been recorded. House’s shell-shocked, stricken eyes were clearly imprinted in her mind, filling her thoughts as she listened to Tritter’s softly threatening voice on the video.

She kept her eyes focused on Benson’s face, trying to gauge his reaction. “So what do you think?” she asked at last when he didn’t speak. “Do we have a case?”

Benson nodded slowly. “Once forensics confirms that it hasn’t been doctored in any way… and if Dr. House is willing to give me his statement… we should be able to get a warrant for Tritter’s arrest within twenty-four hours. He’ll be in custody before he ever suspects a thing.”

Jenna nodded, letting out a shaky sigh of relief. “Great. I can arrange for you to meet with Dr. House this afternoon. It’ll have to be somewhere private. We’re pretty sure he’s being followed on a regular basis, and if he’s seen with you before the warrant’s issued…”

Benson nodded. “Of course.” He paused, frowning. “One problem.”

Jenna’s breath caught in her throat, and she waited anxiously for him to go on.

“We can’t be sure who on the force might be in Tritter’s camp, can we?” Benson pointed out. “And someone in forensics has to check out the tape and sign off on its validity in order to get a warrant issued. Without the tape, it’s House’s word against Tritter’s. But if someone in forensics tips Tritter off before we get the warrant…”

Relief consumed Jenna’s fears, and she waved a hand dismissively as she interrupted. “Oh, that… that’s nothing. I’ve got that covered.” She waited a moment, smiling in giddy triumph as Benson gave her a questioning look. “My brother’s in multimedia forensics. I’ll personally deliver it to him and make sure he’s the only one to see it before the warrant is issued.”

Benson nodded slowly, accepting that. “Good. Give me his name, and I’ll run a quick check on his record, then drop it off.” At Jenna’s slight frown, he explained, “I know he’s your brother, and you trust him, but I have to think about this objectively. I’m sure he’s safe, but I want to check and be sure there’s no connection between him and Tritter before I hand it off to him.”

Jenna slowly nodded her reluctant agreement. “Of course. Better safe than sorry and all. It’s Andrew. Andrew Leander.”

She rose and headed for the door, feeling a thousand pounds lighter than she’d felt when she’d walked into Benson’s office.

“Ms. Leander.”

She turned in the doorway. “Yes?”

Benson smiled, the first real smile she had seen since she’d met him. “Thanks,” was his sincere reply, satisfaction in his voice. “We’re finally going to nail this bastard.”

****************************

Andrew Leander stared in horror at the scene playing out on the video screen in front of him.

The aggressor on the video was unmistakably Michael Tritter, and there was no question as to the validity of the tape he was watching. It was completely untouched, undeniably genuine. Though the camera had obviously been somehow worn by the victim, so his face was not in the frame, there was no mistaking the clear terror in his pleading, desperate voice as Tritter threatened him with sickening promises of violence and violation.

He couldn’t believe that this disturbing, sickening video had come from his sister’s hands.

Oh, Jenna… Jenna, what are you getting yourself into?

He removed the tape from the recorder, placing it into an evidence bag and labeling it with a trembling hand. He felt a deep, swelling sickness in the pit of his stomach as he stared down at the sealed evidence bag on the table in front of him, wondering what to do next.

Of all the private investigators in New Jersey, this guy had to hire Jenna? No… no, this can’t be happening…

But it was – and his life as he knew it was over.

The voice of the victim on the tape was clear, distinctive, unmistakable – the voice of the man that he and four others had attacked in the parking garage of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, nearly two weeks before. Tritter had assured him that there would be no evidence of the crime they’d committed – and yet, here was the evidence, in his own hands.

Jenna… oh, Jenna… My God, what have you done?

TBC...